Questions alcoved in the long,
Curved necks of lamp posts—
A God who reaches His light
Toward the murky darkness.
Souls slouched in posture on
The side of the road, unseeing,
Focused inward, cradling the
Night close until their eyes
Stop percieving the daylight.
There must be rows and rows
Of them, all lined up on the curb,
Hugging their knees close, blind
To the shoulders inches from
Their aching hearts—
Children of the world, chastising
Their lack of knowledge, their
Inability to move—
The narrow road moves on,
A river of hope outlined by a
Figure of patience, watching as
The bodies of cars buckle and
Deflate on the wide avenue,
Drivers unfolding from the smoking
Holds to the row of people who 

Relied on the promise of themselves.